


All the poise of a cannonball

by iwillnotbecaged



Series: Flying high without ever leaving the ground [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sam-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillnotbecaged/pseuds/iwillnotbecaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam knows his keys are somewhere in the apartment. He just can't fucking find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the poise of a cannonball

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place a few months after Sam comes home from Afghanistan while he's still staying with Sarah.
> 
> Thanks to the extravaganza squad for the encouragement and being the best friends a girl could ask for :)
> 
> Title from "When the War Came" by The Decemberists

“Where the hell…”

Sam threw yet another decorative pillow on the ground and shoved his hand in between the couch cushions for the third time. He turned back to the coffee table and shuffled through the books and junk mail. He had looked here. He had done this already.

He scooped the pillow off the floor and threw it forcefully back onto the couch. He stood in the middle of Sarah’s living room, breathing hard and clenching his fists. The heat was rising on his face and there was a burning in the back of his eyes.

No. Not going there. He was not going to cry because he couldn’t find his goddamn keys. Even if it did mean he couldn’t go for a run like he had planned. Even if it did mean he was losing his fucking mind.

This is not that big of a deal, Sam. Get it together.

Sam closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, made himself count each inhale and exhale like the counselor at the VA kept talking about. It took a few minutes before the panic receded and he could open his eyes again.

Okay. He used his keys to unlock the door when he got home last night, which meant they were somewhere in the apartment. They hadn’t disappeared or walked off or been stolen by a pigeon. He could do this. He just needed to be calm. Methodical. 

He started again with the end table in the corner, forcing himself to move slowly and deliberately. He looked under things and in things, between the cushions and pillows again, sorting the piles of mail on the coffee table as he went. He got to the book shelf and checked behind all of the books, ignoring the part of his mind that screamed that he was being ridiculous.

He moved into the kitchen, checking all the counters and opening drawers and cabinets. Spatulas. Whisks. Measuring cups. 

Not keys. 

Not keys. 

Not keys. 

Where the fuck— breathe. Slow down. Check the kitchen table. Nothing under the placemats. In the napkin holder? No.

Nothing in the kitchen. Maybe his room? Sam picked up the jeans on the floor, checked the pockets, and threw them in the hamper. Then he dumped the hamper over, shaking out each piece of clothing and emptying all the pockets. Still nothing.

The only thing on his desk was his laptop, but he opened all the drawers anyway. Empty. He stripped all the bedding off of his bed and shook it out, listening for the tell-tale jingle of his keys. Silence. The knots in his stomach clenched and the burning behind his eyes returned. 

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

He forced himself to remake the bed, tucking the sheets under the mattress with military precision, smoothing the quilt on top, resetting the pillows near the headboard. He needed some water.

He hadn’t heard Sarah come home, but she was looking in the fridge when he came out of his room. He went to grab a glass from the cabinet and froze.

There. On the counter. His keys. But— how?

Sarah was saying something, but he couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing in his ears.

He had looked there. He knew he had looked there. Hadn’t he looked there?

“Were my keys sitting there when you came in?” Sam’s voice was twisted metal and shards of glass.

“Huh?” Sarah closed the refrigerator door and turned to look at him. She had a bag of carrots and a crown of broccoli in her hands.

“My keys.” Sam swallowed. Stay calm. Breathe. “Were they on the counter when you came in?”

“No…” Sarah’s brow furrowed. She set the vegetables next to the cutting board. “I put them there. What’s going on?”

What—how—why had Sarah had his keys? Breathe. Unclench your fists.

“I asked you this morning if I could borrow your keys because I couldn’t find mine and I was running late. You said it was fine?” Sarah sliced the top off of one of the carrots, then cut it into pieces. She placed the chunks of carrot in the bowl and picked up another one.

He did? Why can’t he— 

Sam racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened before he had realized his keys were missing and been consumed by the search. He remembered Sarah opening his door, being annoyed that she was waking him up. Yeah, whatever you need, go ahead, he had said. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Breathe. All he could hear was the thunk of the knife against the cutting board.

“Right. I did. Sorry— I must have still been half asleep.” He moved to the cabinet to get that glass of water finally.

“It’s fine.” Sarah stopped chopping. He felt her eyes on him as he filled the glass. “Are you okay, Sam? Did something happen while I was out?”

“Huh? No, nothing really.” Sam took a drink of water and shrugged. “Just thought I had lost my keys for a minute.”

“Okay.” He could hear the skepticism in her voice. Smile. Put her at ease. Everything’s fine.

“I’m gonna go for a run. Movie night when I get back?”

Sarah let him pretend and accepted the forced smile. “Sounds like a plan. I’m putting together a stir-fry for dinner.”

Sam snagged a carrot out of the bowl before she could stop him and headed for the front door. “Don’t forget the snow peas,” he called over his shoulder.

“I won’t forget your damn snow peas. Go run!”

Sam closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Breathe. Shake it off. Everything is _fine_. He hurried down the stairs and out of the building. The run would be good. Get the leftover tension out of his system. 

He shook his head ruefully, then put his headphones in and began his warmup jog. At least he would have something to talk about at his therapy session on Wednesday.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi [on Tumblr](http://i-will-not-be-caged.tumblr.com)!


End file.
